


facetime

by Crimson_Voltaire



Series: your voice inside my head [7]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Business, Business Trips, Dialogue Heavy, F/M, Modern Era, Phone Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-27 02:37:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13871307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crimson_Voltaire/pseuds/Crimson_Voltaire
Summary: He's coming home Saturday, but Queenie doesn't want to wait until then.





	facetime

**Author's Note:**

> Unedited by anyone other than myself, so constructive criticism is welcome!

It’s an ungodly hour when his phone goes off – twelve in the morning rolling around to one – and he’d just turned out the light. The room, plunged into darkness, now lights up with the brightness of his lock screen, a familiar face dashed across it. Percival swears, squinting at the screen, half blinded by the light and blurry without his glasses, before sliding his thumb across the bottom.  
  
“Baby? What’s up?” It’s almost four in the morning in New York, and he wonders why the hell Queenie is awake at this hour. Worry flutters, sour and heavy, at the bottom of his gut.   
  
“Percy, I’m sorry baby, I just… I miss you.”  
  
She sounds breathless, voice half choked off and feathery. The worry in Percival’s gut twists into something else now, looping around his intestines and giving him the sensation of butterflies. He _knows_ that tone, the way Queenie husks when she’s desperately turned on and needy.   
  
“It’s fine, sweetheart. What’s wrong?”  
  
She groans and shifts, the sound of fabric rustling transmuting three thousand miles.   
  
“I need you,” Queenie whispers as if they might be overheard, despite the fact that they’re both alone in their respective rooms; Queenie in their condo and Graves in his hotel.   
  
“I woke up from a dream, and…”  
  
She starts to speak again, but her voice trails off in a soft moan. Percival swears, low in his throat, and transfers the phone from one hand to the other. With his newly freed hand, he palms his slowly hardening cock through his black boxer briefs.  
  
“Are you touching yourself?” He growls, grinning wolfishly into the darkness at her answering whimper.   
  
“Yeah… I just needed to hear your voice – _oh_ …”  
  
Percival groans now, pressing a little harder – until pleasure snaps like distant fireworks up his spine. He wishes desperately in that moment, perhaps more than any other time he’s been away, that he could hold her right now, that he could see her pleasuring herself, splayed like a fallen star across their bedspread.   
  
“FaceTime, doll?”  
  
Percival doesn’t have to wait long, accepting her request with a flick of his thumb. For a second, there’s darkness, and then Queenie comes into view. The moon, shining in through the floor to ceiling windows in their bedroom, provides just enough light to see her by. She’s got that black nightie on, the lace shoved down off her tits and yanked up enough to reveal the milky, soft skin of her belly. It glistens like freshly fallen snow in the silvery light filtering in, and even the grainy quality of the image can’t detract from how stunning she looks.  
  
“Fucking Christ, look at you,” Percival husks. He shifts his hips, yanking his underwear down to mid-thigh before gripping himself tightly. Queenie’s eyes flicker from his face, following the movement. A small, mischievous smile flits across her features, tugging at those rose-petal lips and lighting up warm brown eyes.   
  
“Are you touching yourself?” She murmurs, mirroring his earlier question. It’s rhetorical though, Queenie can see his hand working as well as he can see hers, three fingers pressing hard against herself. The soft squelching is barely audible – but if Percival strains his ears, he can make it out over their ragged breathing. It goes straight to his cock, makes him thrust his hips up into his hand.   
  
“What was your dream about, baby?”  
  
Percival follows the line of her throat, knows that there’s a blush spreading over her skin even if he can’t see it. He knows her pussy looks just the same, folds plump and red and clit swollen with need. He imagines flicking it, sucking it, just to hear her swear and grip his hair this side of too tight.   
  
Queenie’s breath hitches, like she can hear what he’s thinking, before she responds, “I don’t remember… I just woke up and I needed to come but I couldn’t… I miss you…”  
  
Her admission hurts like a papercut – sharp before settling into a deep throb. Percival frowns, distracted from his needy cock, now fully hard, for a moment by the way Queenie chokes up a little.   
  
“I know, baby, I miss you too. I’ll be home on Saturday though…”  
  
“I know,” she sighs in response, “Just wish I could have you right now.”  
  
The _instead of my fingers_ goes unspoken. Percival shakes his head, a little rueful, before a wandering thought nabs his attention.   
   
“Queenie, you still have that toy?”  
  
“Mhmm…”  
  
“Why don’t you get it?”

Mischief spreads across Queenie’s face as quickly as a river floods its banks. She giggles and disappears from the screen for a moment. Percival waits patiently, propping himself up on the pillows for a better view. There’s more rustling and the sound of a drawer sliding before Queenie comes back.   
  
The toy is in fact a large black dildo. Percival’s pretty sure it vibrates too, though he’s never had the contraption tried on him. Queenie settles back onto the bed, expression eager and open and fuck, doesn’t that do things for him?  
  
“Fuck yourself,” Percival demands. They’re well past foreplay, he figures. Queenie bites her lip, the way she does when she’s taking it and it’s a stretch. Percival knows that expression well, from when Queenie’s desperate and demanding and won’t wait for him to stretch her properly.   
  
“Fuck…” Queenie gasps, “Oh god…”  
  
“That’s it, baby,” Percival groans, “Just like that.”  
  
He can’t see the toy, can’t even see Queenie’s cunt, but Percival doesn’t need to. Her face, so expressive, and her sounds are enough. His imagination and his intimate knowledge of her body will do the rest. It makes the pleasure, already blistering and molten in his gut, a little hotter.  
  
“Fuck,” he echoes Queenie, “’m not gonna last long, doll.”  
  
“Already close,” Queenie mumbles, “Just couldn’t come without you.”  
  
The camera shakes, everything blurring in and out of existence for a moment before it refocuses. Percival growls, suddenly treated to a view of the toy pushing into her, the way her pussy swallows it up eagerly.

  
“Look how wet I am.”  
  
She is wet – _so wet_ – probably ruining the sheets with her slick. It makes her thighs glisten and it practically drips from her. Her clit is already swollen with abuse – probably from Queenie rubbing it desperately in the dark, trying and failing to get off. Percival’s eyes almost roll backwards in his head. At this rate, he’s probably going to come without even really touching himself.   
  
“You’re gonna kill me, Queenie.”  
  
She laughs, but it dissolves into a moan. The camera provides just enough of an angle for Percival to see her hips twitch. Another sound tears itself from her lips as she slowly withdraws the toy, shining with arousal, and then presses back in, even more slowly. It’s torture to watch. Percival takes a firmer grip on his cock, thumbing over the weeping head to get some slickness of his own, and then fucks up into his fist.   
  
“Fuck yourself, c’mon baby,” he urges on, voice growing strained, “C’mon.”  
  
It really doesn’t take much more than that. Whatever resolve was allowing Queenie to tease him – and herself – crumbles at his command. She practically yanks the toy out before slamming it back home. She cries out, and the camera shakes.   
  
“Fuck, Percy!”  
  
“Yeah, like that… Does it vibrate?”  
  
“O-oh… Yeah… Yeah it does.”  
  
Half a second later a low hum fills both their ears, followed by Queenie’s high pitched whimper-cry.   
  
“Fuuucckk!”  
  
Wide hips surge up now, her body unsure whether to push back into the overwhelming stimulation or get away from it. Yet her hand keeps pushing, pushing, pushing, fucking herself with the toy.  Queenie alternates between mind-numbingly slow and so fast Percival can barely see, and his hand subconsciously takes the same rhythm. It drives him wild, higher and higher until the bed is squeaking and his neighbours are probably getting an audible feast.   
  
Neither of them are trying to be quiet anymore. Sounds stream from Queenie’s throat, Percival’s name falling from her lips like a mantra or a prayer.   
  
“Fuck, fuck, oh fuck Percy! ‘M gonna… ‘M gonna come… Oh fuck, oh, oh shit… Yes, yes! Agh!”  
  
“Come then, c’mon doll, come. Wanna see it.”  
  
Queenie squeals – so loud Percival actually rolls over and buries both his head and his phone under a pillow – just so no one passing by in the hall thinks he’s murdering someone in here. Still, he gets a front row seat as Queenie falls apart, trembling and quivering and pussy clenching so tight it practically forces the toy out of her body.   
  
“Percy! Oh! Oh! Oh Percy, aghhn…”  
  
Watching her come practically rips the orgasm right out of Percival. He’s blindsided by it, hit with the force of a high-speed train at full tilt. He gets her name out and not much more, can’t even get his hand in front of his cock to stop him from spilling all over his chest and chin and the sheets. It’s spine bending, toe curling, heart stopping.   
  
Then he slumps to the bed, panting.   
  
“Fuck.”  
  
Percival runs his hand through his hair, uncaring if he’s pulling come through it. He needs a shower anyways. Queenie is silent for a moment longer, trying to catch her breath, before murmuring, “I love you.”  
  
“I love you too, Queenie. Are you alright, really?”  
  
“Mhmm…” She whispers, “’M not gonna be able to walk tomorrow, though.”  
  
He chuckles, “Why don’t you take the day off? You’ll be exhausted, anyways. It’s what, four thirty there, now?”  
  
Queenie brings the phone back up to her face, having picked it up from wherever it fell when she dropped it. She covers a yawn, but Percival can see it in the crinkle of her eyes.   
  
“Yeah… I should let you go, you probably got something important tomorrow, yeah?”  
  
Percival shrugs. She doesn’t need to worry. Queenie sees right through him, though, raising one brow at him. Percival just huffs.   
  
“Alright. But phone me tomorrow, if I don’t phone you first. I love you, Queenie. I’ll be home soon, I promise.”  
  
She nods, and blows him a kiss.   
  
“I love you too, Perce. See you Saturday.”  
  
“See you Saturday, darling.”  
  
The phone goes dead with a beep, disconnected. Percival sighs heavily, tossing it onto the nightstand before slumping back against the pillows once more. He feels boneless, like jelly, limbs heavy and weak and unsupportive. Despite his intention to get up and clean up, Percival finds his eyes fluttering shut.   
  
“Fuck it,” he mumbles to no one in particular, rolling onto his side. The shower can wait until the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, let me know what you think.


End file.
